


Bogey

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [29]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Book reference, Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-03
Updated: 2008-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bogey. bogy, bogie : Military. an unidentified aircraft or missile, esp. one detected as a blip on a radar screen. Designation: Ghost-2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bogey

 

When he was born on the first of January, 1970, his father had already been declared dead. Lost in space. Of course, none of the officials ever lost a word about it to anyone of the family members. The official statement given to the family of Samuel Walker, commander of the Ghost-1, top secret space vessel, was that he had been killed in a test flight, along with four other crew members. Those other four families had been lied to as well.

Kyle Samuel Walker had never known his father, had only seen pictures. He had been told by others what a great man he had been. He had believed him to be nothing but a normal astronaut who had never made it into space on an Apollo mission. Apollo 11 had been launched the year his father had died; the first men on the moon. Kyle had watched Apollo 17, the last Apollo mission to the moon, and he had watched avidly every time something about space flight had come on the news. He had dreamed about space, about seeing and going where his father had never made it. He had had space ship model kits, had been an avid fan of Star Trek in every incarnation, and he had wanted to be on the shuttle missions.

His mother had never remarried. His brother, three at the time their father had died, had gone into aeronautics himself. Today Thomas was working for a private company and bringing in the big bucks. Married, two children, a dog, and his house near the border of Canada. Kyle only saw him at family festivities. The last time had been his aunt’s birthday.

Kyle himself had wanted to become an astronaut. Space had fascinated him; his father’s career had been his guide. His bachelor's degree in engineering was a first step, his graduate degree the next. He joined NASA and trained hard. He wanted to be in space; he wanted to be where he believed his father had never made it. Kyle had seen the commemorative plaque of the astronauts who had died that day in 1969. He would honor his father by making it into space.

He received the silver lapel pin when he completed astronaut candidate training. Once he had flown in space, he had received a gold pin. His active-duty military status got him a special qualification badge after participation on a spaceflight.

He had reached it all. He had been away from Earth.

Kyle had never married. He had had a steady girl-friend for ten years, but it had broken up over his refusal to marry Trisha. He had liked the more open way of living together. She had wanted his name, a ring and children. Their ways had parted just before their tenth anniversary.

The day he was called to meet a man named Tom Banachek, Kyle Walker’s life changed forever.

It was early spring and Kyle had just completed a round of refreshment training on the shuttle simulator. He had been selected as a possible commander for a new mission, transporting two satellites into space. The call from Banachek had surprised him, but he had been interested.

Banachek came to meet him just twenty-four hours later, in his home outside Broken Springs, a small town with an even smaller airport, but a place Kyle loved a lot. Tom Banachek was a tall man, with a receding hairline, a mustache, and dressed in a smart looking gray suit. He had carried a briefcase, nothing else. Had Kyle met him on the street, he would have said middle-aged business man.

Today he knew Banachek was anything but.

That day in spring was the day he heard the truth about his father, about the mission in 1969, about the cover-up of something incredible, and about the Ghost-2 mission to retrieve an alien vessel.

Kyle knew he had to fly this ship, the sister ship to his father’s. Thirty-eight years had passed since that day and a million things had changed. He would be on that flight, be it as commander or simply as a communications officer; he didn’t care.

He said ‘yes’ to it all, to the top secrecy, to keeping his mouth shut, to the danger of ending up lost in space, to the possibility of death.

This was it for him.

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The Ghost-2 mission had been under Banachek’s command from the get-go. The moment things had come together he had been in charge. The ship hadn’t even been built yet.

Now, two years later, two months after bringing in Kyle Walker as the commander, it was getting close to the point where the launch was just a matter of the right time.

Banachek leaned back in his chair and looked out over the rugged landscape outside his window. Choosing the high Arctic hadn’t been a matter of personal preferences or good weather conditions. It had been more pragmatic. The first Ghost had been built and sent into space here over forty years ago. The operations center was still here and it had only taken some refurbishment, dusting off the shelves and installing a whole new set of a lot more advanced computer systems.

Well, more or less.

Banachek smiled as he remembered coming to a place where his predecessors had worked on the first manned space flight into the solar system. This had been the place where people who had known so many more secrets than other top secret holders could ever guess had pushed humanity forward. A lot of technology had been based on the alien creature kept eternally in ice. Backward engineering had been the top game back then.

The place had looked like an old and hollow sore underneath the deceivingly innocent surface of the Arctic. It had been and still was a difficult to reach spot, rugged and wild and even the Inuit hunters never set foot here. The wind howled on a good day and threatened to tear even the rocks from their foundations throughout the bad ones.

The base as such appeared like a large animal hunkered down to wait out the never-ending bad weather – bad compared to any place Banachek had ever been – and the old launching site had been partially reclaimed by the local fauna and flora.

Their priority had been the installation of the new systems and Banachek knew they couldn’t have done it alone. The Autobots had been a tremendous help, working out systems that interfaced their technology with the humans’. Quarters had been restored, heat, electricity and water had been reconnected, and new systems now recycled water inside the plant. The launching site as such had only been redone after a year, when the launch had come closer. Cracks in the tarmac had been closed, a new and much more resilient tarmac applied, and deep space telemetry had been powered up.

Banachek flew back and forth between Washington and the secret outpost. Officially this was still a science station. The visible, above-ground structure didn’t give much away. A squatting building, with a few extras left and right, a landing strip for transport planes to unload cargo, and nothing around them.

Underneath the innocent building was a massive cave, large enough to accommodate a Cybertronian the size of the Ice Man. Megatron, Banachek reminded himself. Even the Allspark cube would have room in here.

Their cover was kept by a group of diligently working agents who played the parts of the scientists. They went out, took readings, set up meters, studied the weather patterns, flocking birds, small mammals and whatnot. The rest was all done underground. For two years the Ghost-2 had been flown here in small parts and put together. Sometimes an Autobot accompanied the freight, usually Ratchet.

Banachek had started to live here after a while. He had his place, his stuff, his connections. He wanted to keep a close eye on things, delegating some of his work with the Autobots to other people. Sector Seven was dead, though not forgotten, and a nameless agency had taken its place. It had been called ‘Project’, nothing else, and by now, years later, it was official. Project had agents and operatives, it worked with the same efficiency of Sector Seven, but without the subtle threat the old department had represented. Project worked just as undercover, did just about the same things, protected a group of alien visitors – and a young engineer named Sam Witwicky who had been changed by the Allspark. Lately former Army Ranger Will Lennox had fallen under that protection act, too. Banachek had seen him a few times and was fascinated and shocked anew every time. You just didn’t get used to a human being who looked like he had been spray-painted with alien runes, sigils and glyphs – which moved.

There was a soft ping and he turned to his computer where the e-mail icon had lit up. He had received yet another mail, probably a progress report.

To his surprise he found it was a brief message from Optimus Prime. The Autobot leader, a being he respected greatly and found immensely fascinating, was requesting permission to fly Sam Witwicky to the base to start working on the Ghost-2.

Banachek sent the confirmation and immediately called the base commander responsible for the cargo flight to inform him of their next delivery. Having Sam here at the base would be interesting. Seeing the technopath work was fascinating to say the least.

 

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Thunder roared through the underground test chamber. It was deafening, even with the ear protection, and it could be felt in every bone of the body. Human engineers clustered around read-out monitors and control panels, all tense and hopeful.

"Adjust the fuel flow!" Sam ordered firmly, eyes on the test engine.

He didn’t need a monitor to tell him the input or output ratio, the strain of metal and plastic and rubber, or the pressure on the fuel lines. He didn’t need fine-tuned sensors to keep him informed of how fast the engine was burning the fuel, how molecules rushed through the combustion chambers and burned at an intense temperature.

His mind was scanning along every line of programming, getting a feel for it. Sam was the engine, could feel every little bolt and screw and tiny wire.

It looked good so far.

He watched the power conductor light up more. It hummed softly; channeling the raw energy kept in the storage tanks, and converted it smoothly into useable energon.

"Just a little more and now..."

"Output is almost at optimum level," Laura Maitland reported and stepped closer to the conductor, reading off the figures displayed on the control panel's screen. "Everything is holding."

"Hm, looks like we finally found a conductor that handles this raw energy," the lead engineer, a man called Finch Tomczyk, remarked and he sounded very satisfied.

He should be. He had had his part in discovering how to make the machine work without melting half of it into scrap because of the alien power source, and it had been a real challenge for the human.

Sam’s mind was still on the engine that would catapult the Ghost-2 into space. The design of the Ghost-1 had been radically changed. With the input and knowledge from Ratchet and Ironhide, the human engineering team had come up with a way to get Ghost-2 space-born without relying on a carrier rocket. They just had to get the new engine tested and approved.

Suddenly the machine started to shake and rattle in its cage inside the test chamber. It crackled dangerously and smoke came out of several slits.

"What the...??" Laura stared at the machine which had started to bulge outward as if it was a balloon. "Get down!" she screamed as she realized what was going to happen, hitting the ground.

Sam didn't lose a second's thought about the why. He simply followed the order.

The converter gave a final screech and exploded. The explosion shook the ground. Sharp metal shrapnel cannoned through the room. Sam felt a violent pain in his thigh and he gave a yell, which was drowned in the chaos. Smoke billowed around them and when Sam looked up he saw nothing at all.

Silence descended abruptly, only interrupted by the soft pinging of overheated metal.

Coughing, he waited for the dust to settle down.

Alarms suddenly went off with a screech.

"Laura? Finch?"

Laura blinked dazedly and tried to focus on the voice. There was a cut on her cheek, but it didn't bleed much. Something must have just grazed her.

"Sam?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me. How are you?"

She rubbed her forehead. "My head... I think I need an aspirin. Otherwise I feel fine. What happened?"

"I think the conductor exploded."

How? Part of him demanded to know.

For the most part he was too rattled to think much else.

"Exploded? It shouldn't have done that!"

Suddenly the door was flung open and people ran inside. Paramedics, soldiers, Bumblebee…

::SAM!::

Sam winced as the link flared to life with such force, it almost floored him mentally. He felt Bumblebee’s presence, felt him check him over, then gentle hands picked him up.

“You’re hurt!”

Sam blinked stupidly at the blood on his pants. “Oh. Yeah. Something grazed me…”

More people swarmed everywhere. Someone was forcing the malformed door to the test chamber open.

“Man, what a force,” Sam murmured in disbelief.

No one had foreseen this. Something had happened inside the engine, something really wrong…

::Sam?::

::I’m fine, Bee. Just rattled::

::You’re injured::

::I’ll live::

A paramedic was demanding that Bumblebee set down the young human and he did, though he didn’t move away.

::See?:: Sam sent when the woman was done treating his wound. ::Just a cut::

::You still need to see the doctor. This was just first aid::

That got Bumblebee a sigh, but he was adamant. So Sam let his friend carry him to the medical area where Laura was already getting a complete check. She smiled at Sam, nodding once.

"I checked the conductor," Sam muttered as the doctor cut away his pants and stitched his leg. "The circuits were functioning perfectly."

"Maybe you overlooked something," Laura volunteered.

The look in the brown eyes made her wish she hadn't said that. "I did not overlook something, Laura."

Finch walked slowly over to them, holding his arm. There was no cast on it, but the wrist was bandaged.

“Sprained,” he only said. “You guys okay?”

Both nodded.

“Banachek has ordered a full investigation into the matter. I heard Ratchet is coming in with the next flight. He thinks it might be the conversion rate of the raw energon. I know the engine programming was perfectly okay, as was the conductor, Sam,” the lead engineer told their technopathic advisor. “It must be the stuff we put inside.”

Sam nodded. “We spent hours checking the engine as such. It was perfect.”

“Get some rest,” Finch advised. “We won’t be back at the engine until we know what happened.”

Sam met the blue optics of his guardian and Bumblebee’s thoughts were clear: get some rest. Good idea. Sam carefully slipped off the examination table and found himself caught by the Autobot again.

“I can walk,” he muttered.

“Yes, you can.”

And he was lifted up. Laura waved at them as they left and Sam sighed to himself.

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Kyle’s first contact with the alien life forms called Autobots had been the silver colored one called Jazz. No preparation could have readied himself for first contact. He and the crew had spent a week at Nellis Airforce Base where Captain Michael Bowman had been their primary contact and something of a liaison.

Their private affairs had been put into order. Somber affairs, really, because it was nothing more than the possibility they might not return, like the first Ghost. Kyle had no family to speak of, only good friends. The others, Barbara Tanner, his second-in-command and pilot, Freddy Hamilton, communications, and Gabe Craig, the systems engineer, had family of various degrees. Two were married, two children each, one was engaged.

All the dark thoughts of failure were blown away when they were introduced to Jazz, the second-in-command and mission specialist, whatever that meant in Autobot terms. When Kyle’s team had been told about aliens among them they had been as stunned as the next man, but meeting the Cybertronian had been amazing.

Jazz was an easy-going guy, if that could be said about a mechanical life form. He had adapted to Earth in a stunning way, seemed in love with any kind of music, and he was curious about the planet as such. Kyle found it easy to work with him and he was the perfect first contact mech. Maybe that was why he had been chosen.

It was the size of the aliens that astounded them all. The ability to transform, to look like a human-made car. They were a lot more than simply automatons, robots, machines. They were truly alive, had emotions, laughed, made jokes and in Jazz’s case had a wicked sense of humor.

Ratchet, the chief medical officer, had been even more stunning in size. He noticeably dwarfed Jazz and he was a lot more massive. Their different personalities had surprised Walker. Jazz and Ratchet had gently and carefully paved the way for further contact with the others. Not that Banachek hadn’t been thorough. They had gone through quite a program with every future crew member. They had been shown images of both vehicle and robot form of each Autobot, and they had been told about the Decepticons, more specifically: the Decepticon who was now allied with the Autobots.

When they had been flown to the former Airforce base in the Nevada desert, Kyle had steeled himself for meeting the Autobot leader. Despite all the briefings, seeing such a mechanoid in real life was impossible to prepare for. And Prime was even bigger than the rest.

The base alone was, despite its run-down and rickety look from the outside, an impressive sight to behold on the inside. The human military unit moved with such natural understanding between the much larger Autobots, it spoke of years of working together.

“Commander Walker?”

Kyle gazed up at the Autobot leader, who had knelt down to meet their eyes. Still, he was huge.

“Optimus Prime,” he replied, sounding calm and collected.

“Welcome to our base, Commander. You and your crew have been awaited.”

“Ah, thank you.” Kyle tried not to fidget. He had been briefed, he had been shown film material, but it was nothing, nothing at all, to the real thing.

Prime smiled, apparently very much aware of the impact he had on the humans. “I’m looking forward to getting to you know you and your men. Your mission is very important to us, more than you might understand. Feel free to ask whatever you need to know. Captain Epps and his men are here to help you. Captain?”

A dark-skinned man stepped forward, all toothy grin and amused eyes. “I’m Captain Epps, the leader of the human contingent on the base. I’ll show you where you’ll be bunking for the next few days, as well as give you an intro into base essentials. Follow me. And don’t get stepped on!”

Kyle laughed nervously, looking at his equally stunned and nervous crew. Then they followed Epps. Their first stop was a large office, no windows, filled with computer stations, printers and filing cabinets. There was a huge table in the middle.

“Our logistics nerve center,” Epps announced. “Lieutenant DeMarco is the guy who keeps us running.”

DeMarco was a tall, muscular blond guy who could have been the All-American football player if he hadn’t worn an Army uniform. He had a ready smile and shook hands with everyone of the team.

“Nice to meet you,” the lieutenant said, nodding at them.

“Likewise.”

“Lieutenant DeMarco is also booking your seats to the Arctic station, so be nice,” Epps joked. “Or you only get the aisles seats near the toilets.”

Chuckling, they continued on their tour. The labs were next, then the bunk rooms, sanitary units, storage and so on. Epps told them which areas were off limits if not for emergencies, and most of those included the recharge units of the mechanoids and special storage.

“Any questions, ask one of us guys. We’re a small unit here. Find me in case of problems.”

“Will do. Thanks, Captain.”

“Your training schedules are in my office, so that’s our last stop. Then you’re free to explore.”

So they filed into Epps’s office for the last order of the day.

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Sam had spent a good two hours after the explosion trying to sleep, but then had given up. His rather hyper-active mind was going over and over the possible faults in their calculations, into what he had felt throughout the test, what might have triggered the overload. The dull throb in his leg wasn’t enough to dampen that effect in any way; if anything, it was just a minor bother and Sam overlooked it as he lay in bed, thinking.

Finally he left his room and limped back into the lab. His head was okay and the small graze was nothing to worry about. The pain medication helped with both the headache and the leg, and the leg wasn’t really a big deal. He had convinced Bumblebee of that, though the mech was rather overprotective. His never-ending supply of chocolate was everywhere he worked and it had helped him over the part of the headache not caused by being thrown clear across the room. By now his system was rather balanced again and he felt ready to tackle whatever came.

“I survived Mission City,” Sam had told his partner. “That was more than just a graze, Bee!”

He had been thrown around, picked up, dumped, man-handled, cuffed, thrown around some more, run faster than he had ever thought possible, fallen off a building, shot at, and and and… Sam had been black and blue afterwards and the pain of bruises, scrapes and pulled muscles had settled in a lot later. But he had survived.

Still, back then their connection had been different. Sam understood the changes and he knew the mech worried more now, but this was his job; he was an engineer now and he was involved in the tests of the Ghost-2. Bumblebee was his guardian and would always feel that way, something Sam couldn’t get him to drop.

He wasn’t really all that much surprised to find Laura in the lab, frowning at what looked like the security tapes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked casually as he joined her looking at the screen.

“Didn’t even try it,” she replied. “How’s the head?”

“Still attached. Looking for the reason of it all?”

She nodded.

“Need help?”

“You know I’d never say no to you,” she teased.

Sam chuckled and pushed a button, rewinding the feed, then plugged in the second one; this one being the sensor readings.

And they started their work.

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"How are you doing?" Laura asked several hours later as she looked over the dismantled proton accelerator main board.

"I can't say right now. I have to check the circuits and chips and all the connections. The cables, too. It'll take some time," Sam replied, stretching.

His back ached, his leg was throbbing more, and he wondered what time it was. A quick look at the lab clock told him that he and Laura had been here for the better part of twelve hours straight. He remembered Finch coming in, saying something about taking a break, but he had tuned that out again.

"Then you might take a little break before launching into this new challenge and eat."

Sam grimaced. "I don't have the time. We don’t have the time, Laura."

"You do," she told him firmly. "You look like hell.”

“So do you and I’m not rubbing your nose in it.”

“At least I took a lunch break.”

She had?

"You either go voluntarily and fill up on more than caffeine or I’ll page Bumblebee.”

Now there was a cheap shot if Sam had ever known one. It wasn’t like he could keep Bumblebee out of his mind for very long without good reason. He had put up more than basic shields and only dropped them when he scanned a piece of circuitry, but so far his partner hadn’t caught up on his overtaxed state-of-mind. The almost limitless amount of chocolate in the lab had helped, too.

“You wouldn’t,” he muttered.

“You know I would. Go. Shoo. I’ll take care of what you started. And Finch said to take five. And he meant hours.”

“You didn’t sleep either,” Sam argued.

“But I’m about to follow my boss’ recommendation before he grounds me,” Laura replied. “Now go!”

Sam glared at her, but he went. Just getting up from the chair told him she was right. It was as if a wave of exhaustion suddenly flooded him. The shields wavered and it was no great surprise that Bumblebee was at his quarters when he arrived there.

::Not a word:: Sam muttered.

Blue optics reflected amused acceptance of the human’s state.

Sam took a quick shower, which revived him enough to give him the coordination to get dressed in his pajamas, then he crawled into bed. Bumblebee watched him, still silent, but when he moved closer through the link, Sam didn’t push him away.

Wrapped inside the mech’s familiar mind, Sam dropped off to sleep almost immediately.

 

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Optimus Prime had never openly requested to be kept in the loop of every step of the way when it came to the construction of the Ghost-2, as well as the selection of the crew that would fly the human vessel into position. He had offered the help of his team and it had been gratefully accepted, though. The Ghost-1 had been a purely human construct, derived from reverse-engineering Megatron’s technology. It had reeked of Decepticon influence. Ironhide had been the first to protest against using the specs of the primary interplanetary vessel to build its sister ship. Ratchet had agreed.

So both began to work closely with the human engineering crew. It was a top secret project located in the Arctic where the first Ghost had been built. The Autobots could only get there by transport plane. Ratchet had almost set up camp there.

Sam was brought into the picture a year into the project. He provided valuable help with the interface of human and Cybertronian technology. Three months later, Optimus Prime was presented with the crew of the new ship in person for the very first time. The two men and two women had been trained at different sites ever since they had been chosen, but they hadn’t yet laid eyes on their future ship. That would change within the next months. While they knew about the Autobots and had met Jazz and Ratchet, Optimus Prime knew he was still an impressive and awe-inspiring sight.

Blue optics looked at the future captain of the space vessel. Recognition had come when he had first read the name of the man, had seen the father’s name and occupation.

Kyle Walker, son of Samuel Walker, the captain of the Ghost-1, the man who had sacrificed himself, his crew and the ship to keep his own planet safe. They had provided an invaluable distraction for the Autobots. Because of them, Prime and the others had made it out alive. At the time Optimus hadn’t known much about humans, but with the time on Earth he had come to respect the self-less act of the crew of the Ghost-1 even more.

Now he was looking at the very man’s offspring. He wondered whether Kyle had ever been told what his father had done, what he had prevented. Probably not. Until Prime had debriefed Keller on the events in a different galaxy involving the Ark, the Nemesis and the Ghost 1, no one had. He would know now, but the question was, how much?

It was up to Prime to find out and rectify any open questions.

* * *

Three days had gone by since the explosion of the power conductor and nothing had happened since. Work in the labs continued as usual, though Tomczyk had insisted on double checks and sometimes triple checking even those. Sam was in the middle of it all, rechecking what machinery sensors had already cleared with his own abilities. Test sequence upon test sequence was run until the engine was no longer as much as creaking the wrong way.

They had a schedule to match.

Laura wiped sweat off her brow, then switched on the new model. She eyed the power conductor warily, expecting it to explode, but nothing happened. Ratchet was on stand-by, his optics fixed on the read-outs, his audio receptors open for the slightest wrong hum. Sam stood with his eyes closed behind a security wall made up out of transparent material that should theoretically be able to take a blow from a malfunctioning engine. His mind was open for every little blip.

Nothing.

Smooth running.

When nothing happened throughout all phases of the final test, Sam nodded and gave Ratchet a thumbs-up.

They were back in business!

* * *

Life at the Autobot base was so very different than NASA, a normal Army base or any kind of military installation Kyle Walker had ever been. There was the night-day-schedule, which meant lights were dimmed in some areas with nightfall. Shifts were always six hours and rotation was hardly visible. The Autobots moved freely among the humans, clearly aware of the much smaller life forms and taking care of not stepping on them. They didn’t really have night-day changes, aside from recharge periods, and apparently didn’t need full lighting.

The training of the Ghost-2’s crew was mostly theory for now. It meant getting to know about the ship they would fly and the ship they were supposed to maneuver closer to Earth. None of them were expected to fly the Ark, but remote control was a lot more difficult than many people thought it might be. Since the Earth vessel was a hybrid construction interfacing with an all-alien network, a lot of tests had needed to be run.

 

Kyle knew he was staring. The man smiling faintly at him was probably used to being stared at, but it was rude nevertheless. He was about Kyle’s size, with dark blond hair, brown eyes, a healthy tanned look, and the build of a runner. Slender, not too bulky. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and an old, washed-out Army t-shirt. He held himself with a confident air, the smile friendly and open, and Walker had been among enough Army guys to recognize one even when dressed in civilian clothes.

“I’m sorry,” the future commander of the Ghost-2 finally managed. “You surprised me.”

The man smiled more. “I bet. Sorry, Commander. Wasn’t my intent. I’m Will Lennox.”

“Kyle Walker, but I guess you know that already.”

They shook hands.

“Word gets around. You looking for something?”

Kyle chuckled. “Yeah, actually I am. Coffee.”

Lennox motioned at him to follow. “We have a kitchen here. You and your men are welcome to use it while you’re at the base.”

Walker and his men had been shown around the base by Epps, but so much had happened, so many shocks had still needed to be digested, he had simply gotten lost in thought while looking for a source of coffee.

So Kyle followed, still a little shell-shocked as to how Lennox looked. The strange script on his skin was moving, for God’s sake! It was on his hands, on his bare arms, on his neck and face, and probably all over his body. Banachek had mentioned that Kyle and his men might get a few surprises and to be open-minded, but he could have warned him at least a little! Damn.

The kitchen was moderately sized and currently there was no one there. The adjoining, quite large and comfy looking common room, equipped with sofas and a large screen TV, was empty.

“Black?” Lennox asked.

“Yes, please.”

He took the mug from the other man, eyes straying to the runes again. They were alien but quite beautiful, he mused briefly. A dark golden color, some a burnt orange, some bronzed. There were letter-like ones, squiggly lines, straight ones, dots and squares and spirals. They moved slowly, lazily, sinking into the skin and reappearing.

“You can ask,” Lennox said quietly. “I’m part of the same top secret stuff as the Ghost-2 or the Autobots.”

Kyle smiled dimly. “I was trying to be polite.”

That got him a laugh. “Don’t try. Here you either ask or you learn to live with not knowing.”

“All right. Still learning. And since this might be a private matter…”

Another laugh. “As private as it gets with runes all over your skin, visible to all.”

“I can see your point. So, what happened to you?” Walker asked openly.

Lennox gestured at the couch. “Let’s sit down. This’ll take a while.”

* * *

The almost space-ready ship was impressive for a human vessel, Barricade mused. Not the rickety, patched-up look of its sister ship. Ghost-1 had been single-stage, sleek and winged, with noticeable bulges and technology protruding in various places. And technologically it had been of Decepticon descent.

Ghost-2 was clearly influenced by the Autobots. The basic design had been kept, sleek and winged. Humans liked their repetition. Aerodynamically it was a nightmare too, but in space aerodynamics were secondary. The hull was better shielded, it had basic weaponry to fend off an attack should an enemy approach, and it was able to masquerade its origin quite well.

Her launch procedure would be unlike anything the humans had ever shot into space. The ship would be launched on top of a specially reconstructed cargo plane, flown as high as the plane was able to go after its modifications -- sub-orbital space -- and then dropped off. With the engines firing up, the Ghost-2 would leave Earth’s gravity completely.

The ship wasn’t large enough to allow a Cybertronian entry. Frenzy would have fit, but that was about it. Jazz and Bumblebee might be able to peer inside, but there was no crawl space. Human engineers were all over the new space ship, testing and retesting, making sure everything was in order.

Barricade had accessed the human history of space flight and found that the Ghost-1 had been a revolutionary design and idea. Back at that time it had been more than anyone had ever dreamed off outside Sector Seven and their secrets. Even today the space shuttles looked like children toys compared to the Ghost-2, which was still nothing like the Cybertronian ships.

As former pilot of the Nemesis he had given some input into the construction of the Ghost-2. Not that he would confess to any kind of interest in the project. The Autobots wanted their ship back, so they had to work on it alone. Barricade still believed that the Nemesis was long gone and Starscream was busy finding new troops. Still, having the Ark here would give the Autobots an advantage. Hiding the ship would be problematic, though. The planet had undergone quite some changes in the past forty-plus years since the launch of the Ghost-1. Landing a ship that size anywhere would be near-impossible. There were too many eyes in the sky, too many private watchers, too many alien fanatics who just wished for such an encounter.

He hadn’t brought that up directly, but his partner had noticed.

“The humans have people working on the best possible day to move the Ark out of hiding,” Jazz told him. “Solar flares, the like. We might just get her to the Moon.”

“They’ll notice eventually,” Barricade replied levelly.

“Maybe. But we gotta take that chance.”

“Why?”

“Because we might need the Ark.”

Red optics narrowed. “I still doubt it. Your ship is no war cruiser. The best you can hope for is a new base.”

And this one was sufficient in Barricade’s eyes.

“We also get access to our technology on a far broader scale.”

So much was true.

“Do you have better ideas?” Jazz asked. “Where to hide her? How to get her down?”

“Like I said, it’s difficult. The humans are too far advanced to ignore such a huge ship.”

Their own arrival had been explained as meteor impacts. The craters had been there to prove it. But the Ark was too big.

“If you want the technology, salvage what you can from where she is. Take the computer core and the materials you need, disable the weapons and secure her,” Barricade went on. “Should the Decepticons return, booby trap her.”

Jazz looked thoughtful.

“Go tell Prime,” Barricade rumbled.

It got him soft laughter. “You’re in on all of it, too. You can tell him just the same.”

“I know,” he grated out. “I’m reminded of it every single day.”

Jazz only smiled. “It’s not that bad, Cade. You’re still alive.”

It was said lightly, but a lot of meaning carried in these few words. Barricade refused to answer, just looked at the schematics of the guidance controls on the screen. The humans selected to fly this ship would need training in handling the unfamiliar controls. He had told Optimus Prime as much and his advice had been heard.

Jazz gave him a friendly pat, and then walked away, probably to talk to the Autobot leader. Barricade knew he could approach Prime just like any other mech, but he didn’t. It would be like a confession as to his new status among the Autobots. He was a fringe ally, nothing more. He would give his opinion if asked, but he wouldn’t bring in any more input than what was really necessary.

Looking up the name of the human pilot, Barricade called up the service records and training schedule of the second-in-command and pilot of the Ghost-2.

*

Lieutenant Commander Barbara Tanner gazed into the red optics of the mech known as Barricade and she had to hold onto herself not to visibly shiver. Barricade wasn’t at all like the other aliens. He looked meaner, more dangerous, like something inherently lethal and evil. It wasn’t just the color of his armor. Ironhide was black, too. It was everything, the whole design. He hadn’t done anything bad to her, hadn’t spoken more than a few words – which hadn’t been mean either, but the voice… she still shivered – and still she had pegged him for ‘evil alien robot’.

But he worked with the Autobots. He was an ally. Allies were friendly, right? As friendly as mean looking robots could be.

And Barricade was the one to teach her about controlling a semi-alien space ship.

Lucky me, she thought morosely.

 

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A lone figure was jogging along the well-trodden path, chest heaving in regular intervals, his body moving like a machine, always the same speed, always the same motions. The man was dressed in a khaki tee-shirt, black sweat pants and wearing running shoes. He looked like any other jogger, though out here, in the desert, there were usually no joggers at all. If someone should take a closer look would he see the tattoos on his body, swirling gently, some almost resting in place where they were.

 

Ironhide had found Will outside the base, jogging across the airstrip. His human friend claimed it cleared his head. He watched him for a while, the followed the lone figure, engine humming softly, almost purring. Lennox glanced at him as he continued his path.

Finally he stopped, shooting the black Topkick an almost annoyed look.

“You want something?” the human wanted to know.

Ironhide refrained from scanning his friend, though it was an almost instinctive move. Will could block him if he wanted to when he felt scans, so it would probably annoy him even more. Whatever the source for the already present mood was, Ironhide could only make it worse with caring too much.

“You disappeared,” he remarked. “It had me wondering.”

Lennox expelled a breath, shaking his head. “Just needed to get out. With the new crew getting acquainted with everything Cybertronian, it was getting crowded.”

“You didn’t mind talking to Commander Walker.”

“He’s an okay guy.”

“So was his father.”

Will was by now walking, heading further out instead of back, and Ironhide followed on almost silent wheels.

“You knew him,” the hybrid human simply stated.

“Yes. He gave his life to save his planet and, in turn, us. I didn’t understand humans back then. Now I know what it took to do what he – they – did.”

Will was silent, one hand resting on a black fender as they walked.

“What are you thinking about?” Ironhide asked quietly when the silence stretched on.

Will stopped and his hand dropped away. Brown eyes briefly strayed over the black Topkick, then Will shrugged, eyes on the desert again. “The mission.”

“Why?”

“Why not? It’s something big for everyone.”

Ironhide was silent, trying to think ahead of his friend, discover what was disturbing him so much. Because Will Lennox was disturbed. He might not be flashing runes like wild fire all over his skin, but his whole body spoke of it nevertheless. He was tense, coiled, ready to bolt for no apparent reason. At least none that was apparent to Ironhide.

“If this is a success,” Lennox went on, “you’ll get your ship back.”

“In a way.”

Will laughed humorlessly. It sounded like a bark. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble getting from here to the Moon somehow. Or to find a good enough cover to land the Ark. You’ll think of something.”

Ironhide felt confusion rise. He transformed and went down on one knee, trying to peer into the averted eyes. “Will? What’s going on?”

The human scrubbed a hand over his face, then through his already so very tousled hair.

“The Ark is your way back,” he finally said.

“Back to Cybertron?”

“Yes. You can go home.”

Ironhide still couldn’t really make out Will’s expression, but he recognized the tone of voice. Loss. Desperation. Frustration. Fear.

“There is no home to go back to,” the mech said softly. “Cybertron has most likely died by now.”

“You don’t know that. No one does.”

Ironhide reached out and gently tilted Will’s face up with one finger. There was a faint pin point of blue light in the brown depths. Ironhide almost sighed.

“I know, Will. I know it in my spark. When we left Cybertron, the war had already destroyed so much. We searched for the Allspark for millennia and even before we came here, so much time has passed on our homeworld. Without the Allspark there is nothing to return to. We have chosen to remain here.”

“Would you go if there was a chance?”

“Yes. I would.”

Lennox seemed draw back a little. “You still have that chance,” he said, voice strangely far away. “The Allspark merged with me. Maybe… maybe on Cybertron… I might function.”

“You’re not the Allspark, Will. You never were and you never will be. You can’t create life,” the weapons specialist contradicted. “You are Will Lennox, my friend, my partner. I would be honored should you want to come with me, return to a Cybertron that is alive and able to support more life. But there is no such Cybertron left. It would be a dead metal husk.”

“You would want me along?” Lennox sounded almost surprised.

“Yes. Why do you doubt that?”

“Because what we have and share… is limited. Being among your own kind would be more liberating for you, Ironhide.”

“Who I share with is my decision, Will. Mine alone. We have adjusted to this, to our situation and limitations. We made compromises. I don’t feel like I miss anything. Do you?” Ironhide wanted to know, almost dreading the answer.

“No,” was the soft reply. “As strange as it is, it’s… enough. Your way of sex is rather addictive,” he added with a grin.

“We don’t have sex,” Ironhide rumbled.

“I know, I know, big guy.” Lennox looked at his wrist, the one with the Cybertronian name of Ironhide around it.

Ironhide followed the look and wondered what Will thought about it. They had never talked about that particular tattoo.

“Will?” he queried.

“Nothing. Just me thinking human thoughts.”

Ironhide chuckled. “I’d be afraid of your thoughts were anything but.”

“Hey, Allspark hybrid here,” Lennox joked, smirking a little. “I’m entitled to weirdness now and then.”

“So what weirdness is it right now?”

“Your name.”

Ironhide’s optics narrowed a little, waiting.

“It’s been here for a while. Not moving. Sometimes I want to know why I bear it. I keep thinking up explanations. Then again I wonder if I want to know. Really know.”

“What are your explanations?” Ironhide queried neutrally.

“That it signals the others that you and I are compatible,” Will said carefully. “But that would be foolish because the enemy might see it. It’s exposed.”

“It is.”

“It’s the explanation?” Will asked, looking a bit shell-shocked.

“No. It’s exposed. It would make no sense to show everyone just who your partner is. Jazz would have been in grave danger in all the time I’ve known him had he shown Barricade’s name on his skin anywhere.”

“Makes sense. So why?”

“The Allspark was never understood by my people,” the mech replied. “I’ve seen you display all kinds of texts, signs and words, Will. Part of you responds to triggers and the runes show it.”

“You triggered me,” the human said softly. “You taught me. You helped me. You’re my friend. You’re always there. So I show my allegiance?”

Ironhide was silent for a moment, the nodded once. “A fitting interpretation.”

“But I don’t have the Autobot symbol anywhere on me.”

“Neither do you have a Decepticon one,” came the wry reply. “For which I’m grateful.”

“I hear you.” Will shook his head, sighting. “I think I’ll never understand what I am.”

“But you know who you are. That’s a lot more important.”

“Deep, Ironhide. Very deep.”

That had the weapons specialist chuckle. He rose to his feet and transformed. Lennox took the wordless hint and got inside, behind the wheel, and Ironhide drove off, back to the base.

* * *

Matters sped up with the near completion of all tests. Barricade spent most of his time teaching the pilot and co-pilot, showing a lot more patience than anyone, aside from Jazz, would ever have given him credit for. Simulations were run continuously and Barricade noted that the performance of both humans was getting a lot better.

It wasn’t just a matter of handling human and Cybertronian technology in the Ghost-2, it was also important to understand the Ark’s systems. Barricade was no expert on Autobot ships, but he found a co-trainer in those matters in Jazz. While Ratchet had handled the Ark just as frequently, it fell to the silver Solstice to interact with the humans.

The humans weren’t untalented. They had been chosen for a reason and that was their background, their experience, and their talent. They adapted fast, even if they walked warily around him.

Good for them, he thought darkly. He would have had to wonder about their sanity and logic if they trusted him like they did Jazz, for instance.

“You’re a pretty good teacher,” Jazz remarked at the end of another simulator lesson.

Barricade’s optics narrowed a little.

“Never figured you’d be this patient,” his partner teased, optics alight with amusement. “Then again, you taught Sam before this. You have experience with humans, huh?”

“Shut it,” he growled.

Jazz chuckled. “Your image is crumbling, Cade.”

The glare intensified.

Jazz’s smile only widened and he elbowed him lightly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

And with that he was gone. Barricade kept glaring daggers at the retreating mech.

 

Barricade insisted that all the crew had to learn about the systems and be able to fly the Ghost-2 and, if necessary, maneuver the Ark. There was a lot of arguing from the systems engineer and the communications officer. Their job descriptions had never included learning to fly.

The former Decepticon just stared at them hard. “Should your pilot and co-pilot be killed, survival depends on your abilities,” he said cold, chilling the humans.

“It’s just a brief mission,” Gabe Craig, the systems engineer, muttered.

“So was that of Ghost-1.”

“That was an accident.”

Barricade’s optics ridge moved in a rather good impression of ‘raising an eyebrow’.

“They tried a slingshot maneuver,” Freddy Hamilton, the communications officer, added. “We’re just heading for Mars.”

“Your people ‘just went to the Moon’,” Barricade rumbled. “And they had more than enough accidents.”

“Not the same. Different technology,” Hamilton continued arguing.

“Reverse-engineered from Megatron.”

They looked exasperated. Barricade just waited them out.

Finally, “Okay, okay, we can’t get around it, right?” Craig muttered.

“Hardly.”

So training for all four it was.

 

“They learn really fast,” Jazz remarked after the end of another long and intense simulation session. “Humans are so incredibly adaptable. It shows us our limits, huh?”

Red optics narrowed, but Barricade didn’t really object to that statement.

“It’s risky to leave them alone aboard and give them control of your ship,” the former Decepticon finally answered.

“We discussed it already, Cade.”

Barricade’s optics flared, showing his misgivings.

“They are our allies,” Jazz added.

“Allies can betray you, too.”

“I know.”

“Still you’re too much Autobot.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Not necessarily good either. Humans would call you naïve.”

“They call you scary as hell and chilly.”

Barricade smirked. “I know.”

Jazz chuckled. “And you enjoy it.”

There was no answer, but the smile grew.

“Ironhide and Ratchet came up with a fail-safe.”

Barricade shrugged.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, okay?”

His partner didn’t deign it with an answer either, but Jazz knew him too well anyway. Barricade never trusted anyone without having very good reasons. He had fought alongside many Decepticons and never trusted a single one, not even Megatron, though he had put more trust in the Decepticon leader than anyone else.

“Sam suggested he fly along to help should matters go downhill.”

Another flare, this time for a different reason. “He wouldn’t be able to last against the Ark’s systems,” Barricade answered flatly. “He may have grown and learned, but he’s still young.”

And you feel responsible for his training, Jazz thought, suppressing a smile. Barricade would rather cease to function than confess that he had taken an interest in the young human’s development.

“It’s why Optimus and Banachek vetoed that idea. The plan is to give Sam the chance to get to know the main system from a safe distance when the Ark is closer.”

Barricade didn’t comment, but there was a misgiving expression on his dark face.

*

Ironhide and Ratchet kept track of the test results of the Ghost-2 and when she was declared ready, they agreed.

It was late summer and Cape Canaveral was getting ready to launch the last shuttle. The media circus was big. Decades of shuttle space flight was coming to an end, accompanied by old footage, reports, interviews and documentaries about the early stages to today. It was the best that could ever have happened to Project because no one paid any attention to what was going on further up North.

There was a lot of talk what would follow the shuttle program, but all of it was speculation and NASA wouldn’t let anyone know of their plans. There were several possibilities known to the media, and one not known to anyone, and that was a model based on the Ghost-2. It would be years until something with Cybertronian technology would be launched, and if it was, the technology would be camouflaged beyond recognition.

 

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She was a beauty.

Sleek and fast and a metallic silver that glistened in the artificial light of the hangar bay. No other rocket or plane could reach her speed. She was highly maneuverable, able to perform like nothing else anyone had ever built or flown, and she was his. His ship to command.

Commander Kyle Walker stood on the catwalk that led to the main hatch of the Ghost-2, looking at his machine, his plane, though calling her a plane or a jet was actually close to a sacrilege. She was a space ship. A wonder, a miracle, something out of a science fiction movie. No one had ever flown something like this.

He and his team would be the first.

Running a loving hand over the smooth finish, Kyle let his eyes travel over the unblemished exterior.

His father had flown the prototype, had made contact with these amazing alien life forms, had defended their whole world against the Decepticons, even if it was far, far from home, and he had died a hero. No one but a few knew about Commander Samuel Walker’s true fate, his true greatness, but Kyle now did.

“She’s amazing,” a soft voice said behind him.

Kyle turned and smiled at Barbara, his pilot and second-in-command.

“Never dreamed of flying anything like that,” she continued, joining him.

It was quiet in the hangar bay. Of course there were engineers and technicians walking around, but the noise of welding and forging had stopped long before the crew of the Ghost-2 had arrived.

“I had set my sights on maybe the last shuttle flight,” Tanner continued. “Or one of the new Orbiters. But this… no way.”

Kyle laughed softly. “Yeah. Know the feeling.”

“The others whipped up a maiden voyage party,” Barbara told him. “Wanna join them, Commander?”

He chuckled. “And get hopelessly drunk?”

“If you feel like it. Me, I’m going to get myself a huge piece of cake, a quiet corner, and later the biggest steak they can come up with.”

“You sound like it’s your last meal on death row,” he remarked, frowning slightly.

Barbara shook her head. “Nah. My last real meal. It’s food out of cans and plastic bags for the next days.”

He grinned. “Aren’t you the one praising MRE’s?”

“I never said it’s bad food, just… not like a good steak and some home fries.”

They walked back toward the crew quarters and the mess hall. Kyle had to agree that astronauts’ food was good but could never replace the real thing. But who thought about food when they were about to launch an alien-human hybrid ship to retrieve an alien vessel?

If he was still dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up.

* * *

The day of the launch of the Ghost-2 was marked by nothing exceptional happening weather-wise, though several thousand miles further south the media was flocking around Cape Canaveral where the last space shuttle ever would lift off to its historic last mission. The forced retirement of the shuttle program had been discussed at length in the past several months and there were documentaries running around the clock.

Nothing was of interest to the people who had worked on the Ghost-2 in the past years.

The Project station was crowded with humans and Autobots alike, as well as one former Decepticon. The military transport plane had been flying back and forth for days now, bringing in Optimus Prime, Jazz and Barricade, who had come along with a low rumble and a flare in the red optics when Jazz had more or less pushed him aboard. The Autobot base was abandoned, aside from the human crew under Robert Epps.

Sam had spent the last few weeks in Antarctica, going over every nook and cranny of the Ghost-2 with his technopathic senses. His intake of sweets had grown exponentially and some days he went to bed with a headache or cramps in his neck. Bumblebee had followed his friend and charge a week after Sam’s departure, mainly at Ratchet’s request. Sam needed an anchor to even out his mind, to achieve a balance after solely concentrating on the Ghost-2, and Bumblebee was the best candidate.

Thankfully the base had a huge underground cavern it used for building and servicing the Ghost-2, and it easily fit the Cybertronians as well. At least to a degree. With Prime and Ironhide present as well, it was cramped. Jazz and Barricade had taken up posts outside.

The United States government had planned the launch of a Space Shuttle to coincide with the launch of the Ghost-2, diverting all media attention to Cape Canaveral. Should something go wrong, an Ariane rocket would be launched a week later and the Ghost-2 would use that event to take off, too. Hopefully weather and whatnot would be favorable at Cape Canaveral.

The crew of the Ghost-2 had been trained hard and thoroughly. Their mission was clear: fly toward Mars, contact the Ark, remote-start her engines and guide her towards Earth to hide behind the Moon. If all went well, the Ghost-2 would land in two weeks in the Arctic once again. Afterwards, Prime would talk to Banachek and whoever else was concerned to see what to do next. The primary idea had been to just salvage what was possible and leave the Ark in space. Especially since the government still wanted to keep the Autobots a secret. The other had been to set the Ark up as a kind of primary defense station in case of the Decepticons coming back to Earth again.

That idea required more work, more planning, and it depended on the condition the ship was in. They hardly had a service yard at their disposal and Optimus knew just how work-intensive such an idea was. Ironhide and Barricade found themselves agreeing on the concept, that it was the best idea, that they had to protect this world with everything they had, and it had amused Prime to no end to see the two former enemies agree.

For now they had to retrieve the ship first, then deal with the next step.

*

“Good luck,” Optimus said, kneeling before Kyle, smiling at him.

“Thank you,” the human commander said sincerely. “I appreciate what you told me,” he added.

“Your father was the first of his kind to come in contact with our race. He was a pioneer in many ways. He laid the ground work for our first contact.”

Kyle smiled sadly. “I never knew much about and now that I do, I can’t even share it with my brother or mother.”

“It’s a small price to pay.”

The human nodded in agreement. “I’ll ensure that we will do everything to make this mission a success.”

“I know you will.”

Prime rose with a final nod, watching the human walk toward the shuttle bus that would get him to his ship where the rest of the crew awaited.

* * *

"Ghost-2 zero one, this is flight control," a slightly metallic voice sounded over the intercom. "We’re ready when you are. Prepare for pre-flight check."

Barbara Tanner, strapped into the pilot's chair, acknowledged, then looked at her commander. Kyle smiled. All of them, the whole crew, had volunteered for this job. It was dangerous, but they had known risks and were- willing to take them.

Today was it. The big day.

Ghost-2 had been strapped on the back of their modified cargo plane, which had been given the nick-name ‘Ghostbuster’ by everyone at Project.

"Okay, then here we go," Kyle announced. "Control, this is Ghost-2 zero one, request clearance for take-off."

"Roger zero one. Hold steady for lift-off. Control, Ghostbuster-1, fire engines and taxi over to lift off position."

Underneath them, the huge cargo plane fired the engines. A low, steady hum could be heard as the thrusters warmed up, and she eased toward lift off coordinates.

"Ghost-2 zero one, you are clear for lift off," Control's voice then crackled through the intercom."

"Roger."

The low hum slowly increased into a full, deep roar. The frame of the Ghost-2 shuddered as she was lifted off, a natural behavior for the ship as it worked off the stress it was put under through the lift off procedure.

"Clearing ground area, adjusting course to preset coordinate," Barbara reported.

She was not yet in control, but Ghostbuster and Ghost-2 were interconnected. Both pilots could see what the other ship was doing.

“Control, Ghostbuster-1. Lift-off went without a hitch.”

"Roger that, Ghostbuster-1. Chase planes have taken off and will join you in a moment."

Kyle looked at one of the monitors giving him a look of the outside and he discovered two F-22’s closing in. The F-22’s flew by left and right of him, waggling their wings as a greeting. Then they turned and took their observation positions as the pilot of the cargo plane started to ascend them.

Sub-orbital space ride, Kyle thought with a faint smile.

“Ghost-2, this is Ghostbuster. We are reaching separation point. Get ready, guys.”

“Roger that, Ghostbuster. Thanks for the smooth ride,” Barbara replied, smiling herself.

“Our pleasure, Ghost-2.”

"Chase flight, this is Ghostbuster, we are now about to initiate launch program one."

"Roger, Ghostbuster," the lead pilot answered. "We have you. Will move back to safety positions. Initiate on your mark."

"Control, this is Ghostbuster-1. Monitor check."

"Check confirmed. All working within parameters," was the answer.

"Okay, here we go!" Kyle called. "Mark!"

There was a little tremor as the Ghostbuster separate from the Ghost-2. The space vessel dipped for half a second, then the ship lunged forward. Kyle felt it buck slightly once more, then Barbara initiated the last stage of their flight into space. The engines began to scream as she forced the nose further up, going into a steep, straight up flight.

*

On the ground, Optimus Prime watched the monitors which relayed every single move the ship made. Tons of data were fed into the recording units and the engineers and technicians would have a lot of work on their hands after this.

"She is handling like a dream," Sam muttered almost to himself. His eyes were solely fixed on the read-outs, his body showing the tension he was under.

Prime had to agree, but he kept his silence. The ship was a dream, no argument from him.

"Control, this is zero one. Ready passing orbit," Kyle's voice announced.

"Roger," Control answered. “We have you on our monitors. Looking very good, Ghost-2.”

Prime’s optics were fixed on the monitor as he witnessed the Ghost-2 fly off into space, heading for the rendezvous point with the Ark.

He felt useless. He felt superfluous. He felt like he should do something, but there was nothing. All they could do was wait and see, and hope.


End file.
